


nothing I can't have and nothing you won't do

by brightlyburning



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Bottom Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, F/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Trans Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:21:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29771967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightlyburning/pseuds/brightlyburning
Summary: "So," Byleth says flatly, "you often can't sleep. And in an attempt to exhaust yourself enough to do so, you endanger yourself and the lives of your comrades by training without supervision or aid and not leaving yourself time to recover. Furthermore, you did not come to me to ask for help or inform me of the problem. Have I missed anything?"Dimitri, color burning high on his cheekbones, swallows, then shakes his head."I thought not." Byleth stands, and the chair's screech across the stone makes Dimitri jump and gaze up at her, wide-eyed. She taps the desk. "Sit up here, facing me."(For Bottomitri Weekend, prompts overstimulation and crying.)
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 7
Kudos: 88
Collections: Bottomitri Weekend





	nothing I can't have and nothing you won't do

**Author's Note:**

> Tagged as Underage just to be safe, since it's Academy-era. It's up to you if you want to headcanon if Dimitri is or is not.

"You're not in trouble, Dimitri."

Dimitri, hunched in his chair on the other side of the desk, glances at Byleth through his hair, his head sullenly bowed. His cheeks flush red, and he seems intent on making himself small.

Byleth drums her fingers on the edge of the desk, pondering. "This is the third time this week I’ve caught you, Dimitri. Just how often do you train after midnight?" She'd found him practicing lance forms in the training grounds earlier, dressed in a coat over his sleeping clothes. Oddly vulnerable, even now, in his thin linen shirt and trousers, the loose neckline hanging and revealing the pale tops of his small chest, the skin still marked with the lines of the bindings he wears during the day. His gauntlets are an oddity against the softness of his clothes. 

"Most nights," Dimitri finally says, and that has her cocking her head at him, brow knitting. He's very good at hiding his lack of sleep, but she can't be too surprised; she's starting to understand how much of him is surface, how much he keeps hidden. 

"You don't record it in your training logbook."

That gets Dimitri staring at her, blinking, before he huffs, running his hand through his hair. "Well, no, professor. I hope you credit me enough to know that I never  _ intend  _ to train at one in the morning."

He's surly tonight, or as surly as he ever gets. 

"So," Byleth says flatly, "you often can't sleep. And in an attempt to exhaust yourself enough to do so, you endanger yourself and the lives of your comrades by training without supervision or aid and not leaving yourself time to recover. Furthermore, you did not come to me to ask for help or inform me of the problem. Have I missed anything?"

Dimitri, color burning high on his cheekbones, swallows, then shakes his head. 

"I thought not." Byleth stands, and the chair's screech across the stone makes Dimitri jump and gaze up at her, wide-eyed. She taps the desk. "Sit up here, facing me."

Dimitri blinks, but as ever, he's so good, trusts her implicitly. He stands and limps around the desk - likely pulled a muscle from overexertion - to perch on the smooth surface, then stifles a yelp as Byleth pulls her chair forward and sits just before his trembling knees. 

She meets his gaze - wide, dark, half-afraid and half-wanting - and softens her voice. "Good." Even one word has him swallowing, his blush spreading. "Put both hands behind you. Grab the edge of the desk. If ever you want me to stop, if you want to walk away and for us to never speak of this again, just tell me so."

His gauntleted fingers ring as he snaps them around the back edge of the desk, the position forcing him to lean back. His breath is sharp, shocked, when she slides her hands between his knees and presses.

He parts his thighs, and when she glances up the line of his body, his eyes are disbelieving, their blue stark against the red of his blush. His skin brushes hot against her palms, trembling as she pushes her hands up over the insides of his thighs, slips her fingertips beneath the hem of his shirt to find the waistband of his trousers.

"Yes?" She lets her fingers rest on his skin, hot and soft, tender beneath her calluses, and waits, gazing at him. 

He's beautiful: red-faced, eyes shining, lower lip caught between his teeth, the long line of his chest thrust forward in silent offering, the faint rosy shadow of his nipples peaking beneath the thin linen of his shirt. Beautiful and deadly and hurting, and she wants to devour him.

His chin jerks in a nod. His toes find the edge of her seat, brushing the outsides of her thighs, and he lifts his hips. 

"Thank you," Byleth says, and Dimitri's lashes, darker with tears, sweep down as he breathes, "Professor," in a tiny tremulous voice. His breath hitches as she cups his ankles to work the trousers off him, and then he shudders when she tosses them aside to the floor.

"Well." She drags her gaze down his heaving chest, past the golden trail of hair starting beneath his navel, and luxuriates in the tiny whimper he looses when she rests her palms on the straining tendons between thigh and groin. 

"You have a lovely little cock, Dimitri." Flushed pink, barely peeking out from beneath its protective sheath of skin, it trembles as the muscles of his abdomen clench. Just beneath, his lips, plump and golden-haired, shield his hole. Gently, so gently she surprises even herself, she rests her thumbs on his soft warm lips and spreads him wide.

"Oh, please," Dimitri chokes. His thighs strain about her shoulders. His hips tilt upward, exposing more of him to her greedy gaze.

"Such a sweet tiny hole," Byleth says, and watches in hungry fascination as Dimitri turns his burning face aside, as his hole flutters about nothing, the skin around it hairless and slick and so deliciously vulnerable. "Have you tried touching yourself to help you sleep?"

Dimitri shakes his head. "It doesn't- I never climax."

"Hm. Let's give it a try." 

He swallows, and then holds his breath as she leans in, close, closer, the warmth and scent of his need palpable, and then he gasps as she seals her mouth over him. His eyes slam shut, his hips rock up into the wet pressure of her mouth, and his breathing trips over itself as she licks him open in long, slow strokes from the bottom of his hole to the tip of his precious cock. He shivers with each pass, jolts when she reaches his cock, gasps and rocks his hips with each bump of her nose against his cock. 

Whatever surface there is to him, whatever artifice, it's all melted away. He's here before her, eyes hazed with need, blush spreading from his cheeks to the tops of his chest, his mouth hanging open as he pants and arches himself against her mouth. Utterly abandoned to his desire, to the arousal she draws from him.

Byleth curls her lips over his cock, suckles lightly, and Dimitri nearly yells, stopped only from curling over her by his hands on the desk edge. The wood of the desk creaks alarmingly. Shudders roll and intensify beneath her hands on his thighs, the spasms growing shorter, sharper. His breathing hoarsens, the only word he knows "Please," the cadence speeding as he rocks and grinds and presses up, in-

"Professor- _professor_ \- _ah_ -" he shudders apart around her, above her, cock pulsing between her lips. A small gush of fluid wets her chin.

Taking pity, she stills to let him recover, waiting until his breathing slows and he tips his head forward to meet her eyes again. She pulls away with an obscene wet sound, adoring the last crescendo of shivers that roll through him as her mouth slips off his cock, and then takes stock.

"I think you can give me another."

His eyes widen. "Are you certain?"

She answers by slipping two fingers within him, and he cries out, body rolling down over her hand. He's hot inside, plush, wet, rippling around her knuckles as she twists her hand upward.

He rips one hand off the desk, bites at the soft inside of his arm to stifle his noises. That's all right. His body, wet, filthy, utterly gorgeous, makes enough as she strokes his upper wall, searching for the right spot. 

"There you go," she murmurs, curling her fingers hard, watching him writhe, work himself against her, thighs shuddering atop her shoulders, body clutching at her fingers, eyes wide and teary. "There you go, good boy, take what you need."

He thrusts, meeting her, and the air of the classroom fills for long minutes with his panting, his pleas, the slick sloppy noise of his need. His breathing rachets up, grows short, sharp, whistling past where his teeth dig into the pale skin of his arm, and then at last he tears his mouth away, lips red and swollen. Tears spill onto his red cheeks, and Goddess, Byleth wants to _devour_ him, her precious treasure.

"Professor. Something's- something's coming-"

 _Yes_. Byleth ignores the ache in her wrist, the burn in her forearm, and rises from her seat, curling forward over him like an oncoming tide. She pushes, hooking her fingers hard against the rough little spot inside him. "Good. Good boy, let it happen, give it to me-"

He _wails_ , the power of his orgasm milking at her fingers, nearly shoving them out, and collapses to his elbow, hips still - _still_ \- seeking, grinding, and then he squirts, gasping for breath, shuddering apart atop the desk, the ejaculate drenching her wrist, her sleeve.

She gives him no mercy this time, for he has shown no mercy to himself. Instead she smacks his cock, thrusts her fingers again inside him, and he tips over the edge into another wild ravaging climax, breathless, sobbing, all of him trembling and sweat-slick and hers utterly. 

Another. This one she tears from him with mouth and hands, vicious, and watches with terrible satisfaction how he sprawls limply over the desktop, hips twitching faintly away then back against her, little shocks of overstimulation cascading beneath his skin. Every breath is hoarse, a sob more than anything else, and his head lolls weakly on the desk, his golden hair dark with sweat. 

His hand flutters against her forehead. Pushes her back.

She straightens, back aching, lips numb, and takes him in: limp, wrecked, open to her, his breath clouding faintly against the desktop. His hole, red, a little swollen, gapes about her fingers as she eases them free, shining in his come.

"Good boy," she says, and he's too worn to even tremble. Instead he manages a huffed laugh, his tear-laden lashes rising to show her his hazy eyes.

"Professor," and his voice rasps, "I daresay I can't even walk."

Good. There is a small part of her that preens as she stoops to pick up his trousers, work them over his limp legs. "Then let me take you to your room."

When she picks him up, he rests his face, hot and tear-stained, against her neck with a sigh, and the unstinting trust - the sweetness of him - could let her move mountains.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Carly Rae Jepsen's 'Emotion.' Comments, kudos, bookmarks, and criticism are adored. I reply to all comments, though it may take me a bit. Check out my social media info at brightlyburning.carrd.co if you'd like, or talk to me on Twitter at @carthageburning.


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